Shards
by Helvetica Black
Summary: Nobody is immune to lust. Even the mightiest of gods fall under its spell. Carlisle Cullen may have all the restraint in the world, but the object of his desire is just too tempting, and Carlisle is no saint. [Dark Carlisle] [M for rape]


**I want you.**

I want to drain you dry. I want to kiss you and sink my teeth on your small pink lips. I have seen you cry, and I won't deny that every tear that ever fell on your cheek always tempted me to lick. I want your blood. I want your attention. I want your affection. I want to be the object of your desire. I want to ravish you.

When it comes to you, I can only want. I can only desire. I can only lust after.

I want you so much, it's almost ridiculous.

But of course it's not ridiculous. You're a living, breathing human. I'm a vampire. Surely that explains everything. It should explain why I want to bathe in your blood. It should explain why I want to rip you open and lick the blood off your entrails. It should explain everything.

It _does_ explain everything.

It's your birthday night, and you cut yourself. Not intentionally, of course, but the damage is already done. The scent of your blood is forever imprinted in my being. Not because your blood sings to me, no. You're not my singer. But the scent of innocence in your blood, that is what I can never forget. The scent of purity in that one crimson drop. The scent of you.

This, I do not think. I only _feel_ my desire for you. Perhaps it is why Edward knows nothing of my fixation on you, and why Jasper so suddenly loses control of his own emotions. He is not to blame. After all, it's only because his emotions are overridden by mine that he loses control.

My lust, my thirst, and my uncontrollable urge to make you bleed more. My emotions alone are enough to drive Jasper mad, and still he has to bear with more feelings from others. _Their_ thirst, along with his own thirst and my own lust. Not to mention the fact that your blood sings to Edward...

Edward pushes you to protect you from Jasper, and you crash into a cabinet and bleed even more, driving everyone else, and Jasper, more into madness.

I have had centuries of practice with my urges, but Jasper is only a child. It is only natural for him to snap under such duress. I almost pity him for the guilt he must feel after this, but at the moment, I cannot bring myself to care. You are bleeding. You are in pain. You are mouthwatering. That is all that matters. I inhale your scent, deeply, _deeply_, until it swirls into my being. The delicious scent of your pain makes me hard.

Everyone else leaves, unable to bear being around the scent of your blood. Even Edward eventually leaves. He loves you, he really does, but one can only bear so much temptation.

We are alone, only a few feet apart from each other, and you look up at me in confusion. I resist the urge to lick the blood off of your arms as I pull you to your feet. This is not the time, after all. The others are still nearby. Edward is still nearby.

I lead you into my study, and you wobble on your spindly legs as you struggle for balance. I pull you closer to my body, and the back of your hand brushes ever so slightly across the growing bulge in my pants.

You stiffen in my arms, but you eventually relax. I don't know why you choose to ignore my arousal. I wish you'll point it out so I can just get over this charade of ours and fuck you and drink you right then and there. But you pretend not to notice, so I say nothing of the small indiscretion.

I set you on the table and pull out my first aid kit. I pick out a small pair of forceps, iodine and a patch of gauze. You look at me in wonder as I pull out the splinters and shards from your bleeding flesh.

"How can you do this?" you ask, your tiny little voice full of awe and fear. "Even Alice and Esmé..."

I smile, and it's a wonder how you don't sense the predator in me as I do so.

Your meek voice, your doe eyes, everything about you screams so loudly of prey and vulnerability, and it excites me. It makes venom pool in my mouth. Your guileless confidence in my restraint makes me want to crawl on walls. Your unconditional trust arouses me, and it tempts me to corrupt you.

Everything about you makes me want to violate you and ruin your purity.

"Years and years of practice," I say. "I barely notice the scent anymore."

That last statement isn't true, of course. I do notice the scent. I always notice the scent, and it does tempt me. But knowing that I can resist such temptation gives me more pleasure than giving in would. After all, does not my amazing control make me superior to other vampires?

I drop the gored shards into the beaker and you cringe. "Do you think it would be harder if you took a vacation from the hospital for a long time, and weren't around any blood?"

I shrug. I have never thought of that before. "Maybe." A drop of blood runs down the pale skin of your arm, and I swallow my own venom reflexively. I wipe the blood off with a cotton ball. "I've never felt the need for an extended holiday." I smile at you, and you smile back at me, trusting as ever. I turn my attention back to your wounded arm. "I enjoy my work too much."

I glance at the growing pile of splinters, and I see you almost do the same, before looking away in disgust. Blood seems to repulse you.

"What is it that you enjoy?" you ask.

I pretend to ponder your question, but I already know my answer. You are not the first to ask that question, after all.

"Hmm. What I enjoy the very most is when my..." I pause and pull out the last splinter, "... enhanced abilities... let me save someone who would otherwise have been lost. It's pleasant knowing that, thanks to what I can do, some people's lives are better because I exist. Even the sense of smell is a useful diagnostic tool at times." I check your arm for more splinters, and then rummage through my tools for a needle and a thread.

You stare and smile weakly at me as I begin to stitch your wounds. "You try very hard to make up for something that was never your fault. What I mean is, it's not like you asked for this. You didn't choose this kind of life, and yet you have to work so hard to be good."

You couldn't be more wrong, but I don't bother to correct you. "I don't know that I'm making up for anything," I say. "Like everything in life, I just had to decide what to do with what I was given."

You grin. "That makes it sound too easy."

But it isn't. It has never been easy for me, resisting my thirst, but that makes it all the more pleasurable when I do manage to control my urges. You don't understand. You're too innocent, too virginal, to understand the extent of my depravity.

So I decide to kiss you.

I put my hands on your shoulders, and crash my lips to yours. I kiss you with my eyes wide open, and I see your horror as you stare into my eyes. You probably notice that they're pitch black from thirst, because in the next second, you close your eyes in fear. I pull you closer and you gasp, giving me the entry I never asked permission for. Your hands settle on my chest and you make a futile attempt to push me away. I don't know why you would try to do such a thing, since you very well know that you can't. You know struggle only excites a vampire.

I lower my hands and rip the fabric of your shirt. The act pulls at your stitches and you groan in pain. The sound is beautiful, and it excites me. I end the kiss, and carefully feel for the stitches on your arms.

"Carlisle? What are you—"

You gasp in pain, and I can't help but smile. One by one, I pull away the threads, ripping your skin and making you bleed. I smell the tears before they even fall from your eyes, and the heady scent of your tears and blood makes my thighs tighten and cock harden in anticipation. Blood flows from the flesh of your arm and rolls down your smooth skin, and I pull your arm close to my face and lick it.

You try to get away from me, but I hold you in place. There's no escaping me, and you know it. It really makes me wonder why you even try.

I quickly tear your jeans along the waist, and you scream as the denim scratches and burns your skin as I do so.

Your screams are divine, perfectly balanced between agony and fear.

I tell you this as I whisper in your ear. I tell you how hard your screams make me. More tears fall from your eyes, and I can't help but think that this is all intentional, that you are purposefully making yourself seem weak. You're too good, too vulnerable, too perfect. Nobody can be as perfect an embodiment of prey as much as you are.

I pull down your underwear and notice that you are wet, despite all that's happening.

Perhaps you are wet _because_ of what's happening.

Do you enjoy being defiled as much as I enjoy defiling you?

I ask you this as I thrust myself into you.

I remember that you are a virgin, and it makes me even harder. Not because I enjoy the fact that I am your first, but because I know my fucking you will hurt you more than if you weren't a virgin.

I rejoice upon scenting your ruined maidenhead. I know that inside you, my cock is stained by your blood.

You scream.

I don't know why you do, if you really hate the thought of me taking your virginity. You know how your scream only excites me. I already told you how much I like the way you scream. I already told you, but still you scream. Why?

I shift myself slightly, and at the sound of your whimper, I slam into you with wild abandon.

Thrustthrustthrustthrust.

I feel your juices trickle down my thighs, wet and sticky, and I let myself smile. I haven't even given you any foreplay, and yet you seem to enjoy yourself just fine. You tighten around me, no doubt trying to push me out of your quim. Again, I wonder why you even try. It's not like you can dislodge me. I am slamming myself into you, and no amount of tightening can push me out of you. You might as well try to squeeze a metal pole from inside you.

But still you try and wrap yourself tight around me. I don't comment. After all, the tightening only makes the act more pleasurable for me.

As I am sure it also does for you. It only makes you feel more of the intrusion of my cock. It makes you feel its slender curve, which I know from experience, reaches into the most pleasurable places inside you.

Thrustthrustthrustthrust.

"This it it," I tell you. "This is true rape." The word slowly trickles down my lips. A dirty word. A word that proves my dominance. I give you an especially hard thrust to emphasize the word, and you groan. Whether it's because of pain or pleasure, I can't tell. I decide that it doesn't matter. "I'm not only forcing sex on you, but also pleasure. You enjoy the pain I give you, don't you, Bella?"

Tears fall down your cheeks, and I lick them. They taste disgusting, as everything does except for blood, but I take pleasure in your involuntary shudder.

"Please, Carlisle," you whimper through my relentless thrusts. I grip your hips and piston myself harder into you, and you moan. "Please stop. Edward—"

"Is away," I continue for you. "He won't return until tomorrow."

Suddenly, just sex is no longer enough. I need to ruin you more. The sex no longer hurts to you, after all, and what doesn't hurt is something that doesn't excite me. I pull out from your body and watch as my cock slowly comes out wet and bloody from your pussy.

I kiss your lips as I pull the skin of your wounded arm. You scream so beautifully against my lips as the skin rips from your flesh. Blood pools and I dip a finger in it, eager to feel its liquid warmth.

Not tearing my lips from yours, I smear your blood over my cock.

"I love you," I whisper between kisses, and I feel you stiffen in my arms. "I love you so much, Bella. Do you know what that means?"

You only sob. Your lips are bruised, and I'm sure my kisses hurt, but that makes me want to give you more of them. My kisses aren't for claiming. My kisses aren't to mark you as mine. I give you kisses to give you pain.

I pull away from our kiss to study your purple lips and your tear-streaked cheeks. The sight makes me want to plunge inside you again.

And so I do. I enter you and thrust myself to the hilt, and slowly move inside you.

"It means," I reach for the skin hanging from your arm. "That I want to hurt you." I pull harder until I see your flesh dripping blood.

You scream in pain and tighten around me, as I knew you would. "Why?"

I don't tear my gaze away from the blood flowing in rivulets down your arm. "Because I'm a vampire, and I love you."

You tremble. "You have Esmé."

Your statement doesn't shock me in the least. "I love Esmé the way a vampire loves his mate." I palm the exposed flesh, and lick my lips as my hand comes away bloody. I caress your face with my gored hand and watch the expressions play across your face.

Horror. Pain. Agony.

Pleasure.

I put my bloodied palm against my waiting tongue and greedily lick the blood off it, all the while not tearing my gaze from yours. You quiver around my cock, and I smile. "I love you the way a vampire loves a human."

You close your eyes and sob. "No,"

It occurs to me that you're thinking of Edward. Because he's a vampire, too, and he doesn't love you the way I do.

I know exactly how Edward loves you. He loves you the same way I love all my patients, after successfully resisting their blood. I love them for making me feel god-like. I love them for being so tempting, because resisting them makes me all the more superior.

You're Edward's singer, and resisting the pull of your blood gives him much pleasure, just like resisting everyone else's blood gives me pleasure.

He's not so different from me.

I tell you this, but you don't understand.

Just like you don't understand why I want to hurt you. You're human, after all, and you can only understand the human way of loving someone. But I'm a vampire, and there's only one way a vampire can love a human.

I sink my fangs on your neck, and release my seed inside you.

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**A/N: Reviews are love!**


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